


Next Time

by vulcanhighblood



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, I did not intend for this fic to happen and I regret everything, M/M, Sex Pollen, porn what porn this is all plot, this is basically the opposite of a pwp im sorry, trash fic of the highest order
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanhighblood/pseuds/vulcanhighblood
Summary: Deadpool finds himself in a bit of a predicament when a hit goes wrong, and he ends up on the receiving end of a particularly nasty aphrodisiac. Fortunately, Spider-Man is there to help him through the worst of it.





	Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry for this.

This wasn't usually how hits went south, Deadpool reflected wearily. Usually he ended up dead, sometimes dismembered, or just even more insane and traumatized than usual. Wade knows his head is all scrambled up and he can't really help that, though he does his best with the shitty brain he’s been given. Right now, that shitty brain was trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

 **Good luck with that,** Yellow mocked.

He’d been trying to take out some scientist creep who’d been synthesizing a new sort of date-rape drug, very new, a hot commodity. The drug was supposed to be nearly impossible to trace, and it could be absorbed through contact with the skin, ingested, or inhaled. Wade hadn't gotten many details beyond that, so he’d worn his mask and suit and figured that would be protection enough. He hadn't realized the dastardly chemist would have _goons_ working for him, and that was the point where the hit had gone off the rails.

He tried to stick with your average “poke it with bea and arthur ‘til it stops twitching” type hit, but it turned out to be a lot more… involved. Apparently the date rape drug was just the latest in a long line of substances the chemist had synthesized, using the chemicals to make his goons stronger and ensuring their loyalty. In other words, he was being very mad-scientisty. If there was one thing Deadpool couldn't stand it was mad scientists using chemicals to enslave goons and change them into something less than human and better than soldiers.

So he, ahem, went a bit overboard. The goons got in a few good hits, and while Wade had an impressive healing factor and wasn't too worried about those injuries, it turns out that he'd have been better off worrying a little.

 ** _Ya think?_** White snarled.

So now here he was, in some dirty back alley by the dumpsters, back against the wall, panting hard, a hand down his pants. He must have been hit with the date rape drug, and damn if it wasn't a fucking powerful drug. Deadpool shut his eyes, trying to stop touching himself -- he joked about doing these sorts of things in public, but he wasn't actually interested in exhibitionism, especially drug-induced exhibitionism. But he couldn't seem to stop, couldn't pull his hand out, needed the friction more than he needed to fucking stop and think about what he was doing.

And he _really_ needed to stop and think about what he was doing.

He panted hard, hating the feel of his suit. It clung to him like plastic wrap, so tight that it felt like he was _suffocating._ He couldn't take it off, though. God, not even the most powerful psychotropic could make him do that. So he had both hands in his pants now, chasing that release, and then that would be the end of it.

Probably. He hoped.

 **_You know it never works like that, especially not for us,_ ** White pointed out.

A shudder ran through his body as he came closer to completion. Slicked with sweat and breathing heavily, he continued pumping until he could _feel_ the pressure build, and-

“Aw jeez,” came a disgusted voice from the other end of the alley. Wade felt his gut clench, arousal unchanged but his movements stilled as the silhouette moved closer. The man took a few slow steps forward, coming to a stop beneath a flickering alley light just dim enough to give the impression of wide white eyes on a dark mask.

 **Oh shit,** Yellow eloquently put words to what Wade was thinking.

Spider-Man stood mere meters from a desperate, panting Wade, continuing to speak as he drew closer. “You _know_ I can't distinguish between pain and pleasure grunts, and honestly, that's not a skill I’m interested in acquiring.” Spider-Man stalked forward, the flickering light illuminating his brightly colored suit like a strobe light. “Look dude, I get it, you don't have anywhere to go, lots of people are out on the streets these days, but honestly, give a guy a little war...ning…next…” he trailed off awkwardly as he got close enough to identify the source of the sounds, and in a strange twist from the usual shitshow that was the back alleyways of New York City, it was not some gross homeless guy with no better place to be. It was _Deadpool_ , the merc with a mouth and a moral code that would make most logicians dizzy.

Spider-Man threw a hand over his eyes. “Oh, _double_ yuck,” he exclaimed, “It’s bad enough stumbling across _strangers,_ but catching a guy you _know_ in the act? I’m scarred! Scarred for _life_.” He peeked through his fingers then. “Seriously though Deadpool, what gives?”

Wade wished he had the presence of mind to give an answer, but he was too busy fighting the urge to tear off his suit. It burned like an iron brand and crawled across his skin like he was submerged in a pool of beetles. Sinister shadows seemed to pop in and out of his vision, and light sources seemed to crackle with electricity. Fuck! He had enough to handle with the boxes, he didn't think he could take any more hallucinations.

 **Hey, I am more than a hallucination,** Yellow protested. **I have a personality!**

“Speak of the devil,” Wade grumbled under his breath, removing his hands from his pants with some effort. “Hey Spidey,” he said weakly, and then, “Is that a snake in my pocket or am I just happy to see you?”

Spider-Man scowled. “Can you not? Please?”

Wade nodded, absently wondering if cutting his own dick off would make him feel better or worse. It would regenerate, so at least it wouldn't be a permanent thing. Still, it wasn't high on his list of ‘kinky things to do with Spidey’. Or any list, except maybe the list of ‘things to do to my enemies’.

 **_Let's maybe save the genital mutilation for a last last resort,_ ** White suggested.

Another shudder worked its way up Wade’s spine and he groaned despite himself. Spider-Man jumped a little at the sound, then groaned himself, though in a decidedly exasperated tone. “Seriously Deadpool, even I have my limits. Please _stop._ ”

Wade wished he _could_ stop, but his body seemed hell-bent on denying his wishes _._ What he said aloud was “Wish I could, baby boy,” which was apparently not the answer Spider-Man was looking for.

“Would you please take things seriously for once in your life?!” Spider-Man snapped. “This is indecent, borderline _illegal_ and frankly, disgusting. Get your junk under control, or go home!”

Deadpool winced a little at Spidey’s sharp tone. “All right,” he agreed weakly, leaning forward, ignoring the way his suit was constructing certain areas of his body. He managed to make it to his feet, and took one shaky step, trying to go home, like Spidey wanted. There was just one problem.

As he rose to his feet, his ears began ringing, the alley spinning around him. He grabbed the wall and tried to stay upright amidst the sudden vertigo, only to feel his knees give way. He pitched forward, and would have undoubtedly landed face-down except that Spider-Man caught him.

“What the hell?” yelped, “Deadpool, what _is_ this?”

Wade could feel Spider-Man’s hands on him like a soothing balm. _God_ he wanted - no, _needed_ more of that, he wanted Spider-Man all over him, touching him -- he needed more, more, _ohhhh shit_ \---!

The webbed wonder dropped him like a sack of potatoes. Stepping back as though he’d been burned, the hero managed a strangled “Did you just-- did you just _come_ in your suit?” He sputtered for a few more seconds, then added, “Did you just _orgasm_ because I _touched_ you?”

Wade was seeing stars, the good kind, although probably also some of the “my head just hit a really hard object” stars. He wanted to answer Spidey, but he was struggling to string his words together, especially now that he’d come. He felt sticky enough and there was a certain euphoric sensation running through him that _seemed_ pretty orgasm-y. But… he was still hard. Painfully hard, the pressure _still_ building, like he needed _more_.

Now, Wade generally had a pretty decent refractory period, but this was just ridiculous. Spidey seemed to think so too, but for a different reason.

“You just came… because I touched you. Not even in a sexual way, I just _grabbed_  your _shoulders_ , how the hell--?”

Wade grunted, trying to push himself up, to roll over, and found that he could barely move his arms. “Fuck,” he grunted through clenched teeth, and then, “I was drugged.”

“With what, porno serum?!” Spider-Man snapped, throwing his hands in the air and beginning to pace.

Wade whined low in his throat. His body weight pressed uncomfortably against his stiff member, and he _really_ wanted to roll over and take the pressure off. “Something like that,” he answered Spidey’s mostly rhetorical question. “Some mad fucking scientist was using this new drug he made to rape girls at bars.”

Spider-Man paused mid-step. “What's this, now?”

Wade groaned, willing his dick to maybe chill, at least a little. No such luck. “I was hired to fucking end his reign of dive-bar terror. Ten girls found each other, somehow, and pooled their resources to hire me to fucking _make him pay_ .” His body shuddered, the pressure building in him, even though he was feeling far more pain than pleasure at this point. Maybe he was more into that than he realized. Maybe it was just this fucking - “ _Ahhh!_ ” Wade hissed with discomfort - drug.

Spider-Man was standing over him, but his stance had softened a little, more like a sympathetic friend than a judgemental acquaintance. “Damn,” he said, then, “So, I’m guessing he got you, too?”

“It's some kinda aphrodisiac,” Deadpool explained, “Or that's what the girls told me.” He shrugged his shoulders weakly, which was about the only movement he was capable of at this point. “Mild paralytic too,” he added, “Though that apparently kicks in thirty minutes _after_ the stuff that makes you horny.”

“Oh,” Spider-Man said weakly. Then, “Oh! Shit! Are you paralyzed?”

“Can't lift a finger,” Wade answered brightly.

 **_You don't need to sound so happy about it,_ ** White griped.

“Do you want to, I dunno, _not_ be laying flat on your face?” Spider-Man asked then.

“I dunno,” Wade quipped, “Are you gonna go blind if you see my boner again?”

Spider-Man sighed. “No,” he admitted, “But that doesn't mean I’m _into_ it.” He crouched next to Wade, who was suddenly _very aware_ of how physically attractive Spider-Man was, especially in close proximity.

Spidey carefully rolled Wade onto his back, slinging one of Wade's arms over his shoulder and lifting his torso, helping the merc lean back against the wall. Wade’s head lolled, and his whole body screamed for _more touch, more friction, more more more--!_

“Deadpool, I swear to god if you moan like that when I touch you even _one more time…”_ Spider-Man yanked his hands away from the merc like he was a live wire. “I am _not comfortable_ with this.”

For some reason, that comment didn't sit well with Wade. “You think _I’m_ comfortable with being completely immobile and desperately horny?”

Spider-Man appeared to consider this. “Ye-es?” he said weakly, stretching out the syllable.

“Fuck you,” Wade snapped, wishing he could move his fingers enough to flip the bird at the friendly neighborhood superhero. “And _fuck no_.”

Spidey seemed properly chagrined. “Look, it's just that you're basically always making obscene sexually explicit comments and you've mentioned bondage _several times_ and you've made no secret about bottoming as often as you top, and--”

“And?” Wade repeated with a growl, “I like my sex consensual _and_ kinky, is that too much to ask?”

Spider-Man froze. “No,” he said softly, “its not.”

“Then maybe let’s stop kinkshaming me,” Wade snapped, “And maybe focus on getting me _out_ of this fucking situation.”

“Oh good,” Soider-Man gasped, clutching at his chest, “For a minute I thought you were going to say ‘getting me off’ and I was really not ready for that.”

Wade felt his dick twitch at the thought and hissed. He’d already come at least twice, and despite his healing factor he _knew_ he didn't have many more orgasms in him. He also knew that he _needed_ to be milked dry. Desperately. He struggled to lift an arm, buck his hips, anything to provide that much needed friction, but he _couldn't. fucking. move._ Wade could _hear_ himself whine with frustration, but he couldn't seem to make himself stop.

 **_Pathetic_ ** , White told him. **_You've shown Spidey a lot of your flaws, but this is really a step down from even your usual fuckery._ **

Spider-Man hovered awkwardly, too repulsed to actually touch Wade in a way that might help him find some release, but also too good-hearted to leave him to his misery. Wade wasn't sure if he wanted the webbed wonder to stay or leave, especially since his absolute refusal to touch Wade was not only frustrating him sexually, it was also giving him torturous memories of just how fucking disgusting he was to the people he cared for and was attracted to.

“Fuck!” Wade groaned, feeling his suit tight against him in _all_ the wrong ways, like its mere proximity was chafing every part of him. “Shit,” he added, panting as his body shuddered again, “Why isn't my fucking healing factor--” he moaned, his dick twitching helplessly, hungry for sensation, “--doing anything?!”

Spider-Man took a half-step forward at this. “It’s circumventing your healing factor?”

“That, or it's somehow re-affecting me, or maybe my healing factor thinks I need to get laid,” Wade hissed through clenched teeth. Another twitch, and he yelped in pain. “Fuck!” he snapped, directing his ire at the unhelpful bit of anatomy, “Its not like I can take the suit off, you prick, I’m fucking paralyzed!”

Spider-Man was glancing at Wade’s face, his crotch, his face again, his crotch, then cleared his throat uncertainly. “I could…” he began hesitantly, “I could maybe help loosen your suit?”

* * *

Finding the merc with a mouth trembling in an alley, crazed with lust and rutting like a dog in heat was _not_ high on Peter Parker’s list of “Must-see New York Sights”. That being said, once the whole story had been explained, Peter found himself actually feeling sorry for the merc. Yeah, he’d probably killed the guy who made the drug, (Deadpool had intentionally kept the details vague, but the man _was_ a skilled assassin), still, he didn't deserve to be under the influence of it any more than the women who had hired him.

Peter was curious about why the drug wasn't being fought off by Deadpool’s healing factor, either. He had a few theories, but since the creator of the drug was undoubtedly dead, Peter had a suspicion his questions would go unanswered.

He’d been thoroughly disgusted at first, but after watching the merc’s body grow progressively slack (except for one part of him), Peter began to feel sorry as the man continued to moan. It didn't _sound_ like pleasure, it sounded like he was painfully aroused and it wouldn't go away.

Peter was a young man with an active libido, so it was safe to say he had an idea of how uncomfortable that sort of thing could be, especially in the confines of a tight spandex suit. He wasn't sure why he offered, exactly, except that he felt...bad. Especially since he’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion. Not that Deadpool necessarily deserved better. Deadpool was hardly one to defy expectations. In fact, as a general rule, he tended to disappoint even when faced with the lowest expectations.

Now Deadpool was staring at him, like Peter had just grown a second head. “You know if you touch me…” he said flatly, trailing off awkwardly, and Peter thought of the wanton, lustful noises Deadpool had been making, and suppressed a shudder. It wasn’t as though he was disgusted by the thought of it, just that it was _Deadpool_ . His friend. Peter tried his hardest to _not_ think of Deadpool that way, and while the merc may have flirted outrageously, Peter didn’t think he was actually serious. As for Peter’s own sexuality, well, he was a lot less sure of himself than Deadpool seemed to be. He really had no experience with a man _in that way_ , as he’d only ever dated women. Peter considered himself bi in the sense that he wasn't _opposed_ to the idea of dating someone who shared his gender, but in practice he may as well have been straight. It just seemed easier to find girls he was interested in _actually dating_ , whereas guys tended to crop up on his radar briefly, but without necessarily making a lasting impression.

That said, if Peter had a ‘ _type’_ , Deadpool fit it to a T. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular. He laughed easily and often, cracked irreverent jokes, and while Peter could do without the whole mercenary gig, you couldn't deny that he was very, _very_ good at what he did. He also had a sensitive side, something that Peter - and most people - often forgot, and Peter supposed that was another reason he felt so guilty about assuming the worst of Deadpool.

Then there was this whole drug debacle. True, Deadpool was a shameless flirt, but that didn't make taking advantage of him _right_ . And he’d explicitly stated that feeling helpless and aroused was _not_ an enjoyable experience. So Peter found himself in his own form of psychological paralysis, wanting to help but not wanting to overstep any important boundaries. Deadpool was a complicated man to figure out, and Peter valued their time together enough that he didn't want to make it weird.

And yet… “I know,” Peter answered finally, “But you can't help it, right?”

Deadpool chuckled dryly, and Peter couldn't tell if it was sinister or self-deprecating. Knowing the merc, it was probably the latter. “Even if I _could_ , I wouldn't tell you.”

Peter scowled. “Why not?”

Deadpool panted for a few seconds before answering. “Because you look so adorable when you’re being awkward.”

Well. That was a first. Peter had been told he looked like an idiot, or a loser, or any number of derogatory things when his awkwardness showed. But _adorable?_ “Is that so?” Peter challenged.

“Straight up adorkable,” Deadpool confirmed.

“Right,” Peter stretched out a hand, laying it on Deadpool’s belt. “You're sure you're okay with this?”

“I’m squarely in the ‘stuck between a rock and a hard place’ category,” Deadpool said, then sniggered. “My dick is the-”

“Okay, I get it,” Peter interrupted, even though he wasn't entirely sure he _did_ , he just needed Deadpool to stop making dick jokes while he loosened the merc’s pants.

“Here's the thing,” Deadpool said, “My skin is a fucking fallout zone, devoid of any beautiful landscapes, the kind of view that makes you wince and then pretend you never saw it.”

“I’ve seen your face,” Peter reminded him. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

“Well,” Deadpool said after a moment of silence, “I go commando in the suit. So… I guess this is your second chance at a first impression.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing I can't handle,” Peter decided, loosening the merc’s belt and valiantly trying to ignore the way the merc mewled at even the slightest brush of his gloved fingers.

“Is there a--” Peter cut himself off. “You suit zips from the top, doesn't it?”

Deadpool chuckled again. “There's still time to change your mind,” he offered, and somehow that cleared up Peter’s hesitation. It was probably his competitive streak, refusing to be scared off by a little (okay a lot of) bare skin.

“No,” Peter protested, “I’m just trying to figure out if I need to unbuckle your sword belt harness thing.”

“Probably,” Deadpool told him. “I’ll try to keep my sex noises to a bare minimum.”

“Oh god,” Peter said faintly. “Don't remind me.” As he said it, he leaned over the spandex-clad merc, unbuckling the first of what he mentally decided was far too many buckles. By the time he finished loosening the straps and went to pull it off, Deadpool was a panting, whining mess. Peter had to take a minute after _that_ whole encounter to remind himself that the merc hadn't manufactured this whole thing just to get into Spider-Man’s pants. (Or more accurately, to get Peter into Deadpool’s pants).

“Okay,” Peter said weakly, “I’m gonna… take off your suit, now.”

The mercenary smirked. “Oh my,” he said, “Never on the first date.”

Peter grumbled incoherently and worked at the suit, unzipping the back and slowly peeling the suit down, away from the man’s skin. Deadpool whined, his body limp like putty in Peter’s arms. It worried, him, at least he had the strength to hold on and make sure the hired gun’s head didn’t hit the ground as he carefully worked the suit down…

Finally, it was done. Deadpool didn’t say anything, just whimpered a little when Peter finally got the suit off. His tip dribbled with precum, the inside of his pants was sticky and smelled of sex. He was still really, really hard. Peter wondered why the drug was still affecting  him; shouldn’t his healing factor, which kept him from getting drunk, also make the drug wear off a bit more quickly?

“How long did the women say the drug lasted?” Peter prompted.

Deadpool didn’t answer for a long moment. Then, through a clenched jaw, he spat out, “I dunno, a few hours?”

“Shouldn’t this be wearing off soon?” Peter asked. “Your healing factor…”

The merc groaned. “Doesn’t seem like it’s in the mood to be helpful.”

Peter frowned. “Could it be… how were the women affected?”

It took the mercenary a long moment to collect his thoughts. “It can be airborne or spread through skin contact.”

Peter leapt back. “You could have told me that _before_ I started breathing the air around you and touching you all over!”

“If you’d really been touching me all over I might have finally come,” Deadpool snapped irritably. He sighed. “Forget I said that.”

Peter felt his face heat. “I… no, you’re right,” he said weakly, “I really didn’t touch you very much.”

Deadpool huffed. “Not surprising.”

“So, is it possible that the chemist who sythesized this used a _different_ method?” Peter demanded. “Some sort of long-lasting slow release type of delivery?”

Deadpool groaned. “Fuck if I know, I’m not a doctor and _I have the worst case of blue balls on record_.”

Peter pursed his lips. “If it is a long-release… did anyone manage to inject you with something?”

“Dunno,” the hired gun answered weakly, “too busy hacking and slashing.”

Peter sighed. “I’m going to have to check.” He reached out to touch the older man, and froze. “Is it going to be weird if I touch you?”

“It’s going to _suck_ ,” Deadpool declared. “Because… well. I can’t move anything. But I _need_ to move… stuff.”

Peter closed his eyes momentarily. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said softly, and then, “what if I helped you, you know…” he couldn’t bring himself to complete the sentence, feeling his face burn like he’d accidentally lit it on fire.

For a long moment, Deadpool was silent. “You don’t have to force yourself -”

“No,” Peter interrupted, “I only offer because I’m willing to, not out of some form of misplaced guilt. You did this to yourself. If you hadn’t killed him he would’ve been able to tell you what he did.”

Deadpool was silent for a long moment. “Fair,” he said. “I think that’s the best case you’ve made for not un-aliving people.”

Peter felt miffed. “I’ve definitely made better arguments.”

“Yeah well,” Deadpool grunted, “Not really in a frame of mind for long-winded lectures on morality. Keeping it simple seems like the way to go.”

Peter bit his lip, eyeing Deadpool’s body with the sort of detached fascination he usually reserved for a dissection in biology lab. “Is there any particular way you want me to touch it?” he asked.

“Gently,” the merc said quickly, “after all that compression, it fucking _hurts_.”

Peter nodded, stretching out his hand, freezing, then moving again, taking the merc’s length into his palm. Deadpool gasped at the sensation, and before Peter had done much more than drag his fingertips along the length of the mercenary’s dick, cum was splattering all over Peter’s hand and the mercenary’s mostly-naked body.  Deadpool groaned loudly, as he came, and for a moment it looked like that was enough. Peter began carefully inspecting his abdominal region for indications of a puncture mark (and not because it was smooth and muscular and really nice to run his hands over). He hoped to find something, anything that might indicate how the drug had been introduced to Deadpool’s system. Unfortunately, it didn’t take more than a minute before the mercenary’s member grew stiff again.

“Fuck,” Deadpool groaned as Peter moved from his abdomen to his chest, “I had dreams about this sort of thing but it involved a lot more ribbon and lace and a lot less dirty alleyway.”

Peter stopped long enough to glare at Deadpool, hard, until the Mercenary appeared appropriately chagrined. “I’m trying to find the injection site,” Peter explained, running a hand over Deadpool’s chest, fingers catching one of his nipples.

Deadpool gasped. “Shit,” he exlaimed, “do that again.”

Peter frowned, repeating the motion. “You think this could be the injection site?”

Deadpool moaned. “I forgot you were looking for that, I just really liked how your gloves felt on my-”

“ _OKAY,_ ” Peter interrupted, “I get the picture.” He didn’t _want_ to be enjoying this any more than he wanted Deadpool to be enjoying it, but he couldn’t deny there was something incredibly… _exciting_ about how _easy_ it was to have Deadpool gasping and mewling, pliant under his hands. Somewhere along the line, Peter realized he wasn’t _really_ looking for the injection site anymore, running his hands along the merc’s ribcage, teasing a nipple before pinching it hard, running a hand down his abs and along his inner thighs…

Deadpool was incredibly vocal, not that Peter had really expected anything different. The merc came a second time, and Peter hadn’t even touched his dick. Thanks to Peter’s continued ministrations (he wasn’t even going to lie to himself about looking for the injection site at this point), Deadpool grew hard again, too soon.  

Peter felt he should do something about that. Also, he found he didn’t really _mind_ touching Deadpool, as long as the merc wasn’t making stupid dick jokes _while_ Peter was jerking him off. Quickly, before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, Peter rolled his mask up to his nose and bent down, licking a stripe up Wade’s length.

The mercenary gasped, “Fuck! Spidey! What are you doing?”

Peter resisted the urge to sigh. “What do you think?”

“Oh my god,” Deadpool said, and then something in his voice changed as he continued. “I really hope this doesn’t mean the drug is affecting you too.”

Peter paused, and considered this. “I don’t think so.”

* * *

Wade couldn’t believe his ears. What had started as a tongue lashing from Spider-Man was turning into one of his wildest fantasies. Stripped down and helpless beneath the alluring gaze and soft, sensual touches of the webbed wonder… Well, true, alleys had never been high on his list of places to get it on, though he wasn’t about to complain. Spidey seemed more than willing to touch him, he almost seemed _eager_. And that made Wade nervous.

Spidey didn’t seem particularly worried, though, and that had Wade feeling even more nervous.

 ** _Just sit back and enjoy it!_** White insisted, **_Stop overthinking it!_**

 **Yeah!** Yellow agreed, **It’s not like you’ve had a lot of practice thinking things through anyway!**

Deadpool felt a little miffed by this accusation, but felt it wasn’t worth protesting as the boxes were right. He didn’t usually think things through. Also it was hard to think things through when _your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was wrapping his soft lips around your dick_ .  God. Wade thought he might die, straining his eyes to see the webbed wonder go down on him. Faster than he would like, faster than usual, fast because between his healing factor and the stupid drug his refractory period was basically nonexistent, Wade felt himself come. He still couldn’t move, which was a shame, because he would’ve like to buck his hips, grab Spidey’s head, touch him back, _anything_. Instead, what he heard himself saying was “Maybe he stuck something up my butt. You could try that, too.” It was probably the worst come-on he’d ever used.

And yet, and yet--! It worked, somehow! Spider-Man ran his hands down his body once more, turning him slowly,working his suit down to his knees, spreading his cheeks, and Wade’s whole body was screaming _yes_ when suddenly, the hero stilled.

“Oh my god,” he said weakly. “You’re right.”

Wade blinked hard. “I am? About what?”

“About this,” Spider-Man told him, pressing his thumb up against a spot on Wade’s butt. It was tender, and not in a good way.

He yelped. “What are you doing?!” Wade wished he could clap his hands over his butt because _ow_ , but he was still unable to move.

Peter was pinching the area. “I’m sorry about this,” he said then, and Wade heard the distinctive _sshhickk_ of Bea being unsheathed.

“Holy shit, I was kidding about cutting off my dick, I really meant for that to be a non-solution, there was never supposed to be a scenario where that actually came about,” Wade heard himself babbling. “If you could maybe kill me that might have a better chance of stopping the drug and honestly it’s a lot less painful - oh! - you can just shoot me in the head.”

Spider-Man sighed. “I’m not chopping off your dick.”

“THANK FUCK,” Deadpool declared. “I was really not into that level of painplay.”

“I just need to…” Spider-Man trailed off, and Deadpool felt the distinct sensation of his butt being sliced into.

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!” he roared. “YOU CUT MY BUTT!”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man agreed, “I found the capsule.”

“The what now?” Wade asked, baffled.

“Looks like he injected a slow-release capsule under your skin,” the web-head explained. “That’s why it could affect you - it was a continuous dose at a rate higher than your healing factor could account for.” He set the katana down. “It must have been a new method. Or maybe… if it had been anyone else, I bet it would have spread. Your healing factor mitigated a lot of the effect, and probably its ability to spread. Which is why I wasn’t affected. Anyone else would have basically been an orgy mule.”

“Orgy mule is a very un-sexy term,” Wade complained. “I vote for the name ‘party starter’.”

“Yeah, no,” Spider-Man griped. “Anyway, with the capsule safely removed…”

Wade wiggled his fingers. “Fuck, yes!”

Spider-Man sighed in relief. “Good. I wasn’t really looking forward to our first time being in an alley.” He made a noise then, like he realized he’d made a mistake and revealed more than he’d intended to.

Wade hadn’t missed a word. “Wait. Are you implying there _will be_ a first time?”

Spider-Man _squeaked_. “Well…”

“Spidey!” Wade could move his arms now, and used them to push his body over so he could look at the hero. “Are you asking me on a _real date_?”

“I just, I think that next time things get hot and heavy we should maybe avoid date-rape drugs and dirty alleys!” Spider-Man protested.

Wade nodded understandingly. “Right. No drugs or alleys… next...time…”

Spider-Man squeaked again. “Well, looks like the drug is wearing off. I gotta go!” He took a flying leap at the nearest wall and began scaling it like the ground had suddenly turned to lava.

“Wait,” Wade said to himself. “Did I really hear him say…?”

**_He definitely said it._ **

**FUCK YES!**

“SPIDEY!” Wade lurched to his feet as the wall-crawler reached the nearest roof, “DID YOU REALLY SAY **_NEXT TIME?!_ ** ”

For a moment, Spider-Man just stared at Deadpool. Deadpool stared back. Then, “Put on your pants, Deadpool.”

Wade felt nearly hysterical at this point. “BUT WHAT ABOUT NEXT TIME?” he yowled.

“God, fine, yes, next time let’s do this somewhere more private with one hundred percent less drugs!” Spider-Man threw his hands in the air.

Wade grinned. He could agree to those terms. “IT’S A DEAL!” he shouted.

“Fine,” Spider-Man retorted. “ _Now_ will you put your pants on?”

Wade glanced down. “Oh yeah,” he said weakly, tugging his suit up over his now-flaccid member. When he looked back up, Spider-Man was gone. "Damn," he muttered, "I was gonna ask if we're doing this at my place or his."

**Author's Note:**

> I really shouldn't be posting this, but I was struck by an idea and it's sucked enough of my writing time away that it's time I washed my hands of it and just got it up to be done with it. It's really rough. It could be ended so much better. There could be a lot more smut. But this is what you get instead. Sorry it's not better quality, I wrote this in about five hours, so, y'know. Crap speed writing is crap.
> 
> I was talking with one of my reviewers on a current WIP of mine, and the topic of sex pollen fics was brought up. It made me think, and I found myself intrigued by the idea of what would happen if Deadpool, who's always so explicit, was actually the one on the receiving end of the sex pollen. Would Spider-Man actually be willing to help out? We know Deadpool would be super into it, but would Peter be equally willing? And thus a crap fic was born.
> 
> Thanks for reading anyway~!


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